


when i first saw you, the end was soon

by aeinlookalike



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeinlookalike/pseuds/aeinlookalike
Summary: finding pieces of someone you used to know, but also knew it was coming





	when i first saw you, the end was soon

**Author's Note:**

> if i was born as a black thorn tree;  
> i'd wanna be felled by you, held by you,  
> fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Belial has always only believed in one.

Who does he confess to, this man of sin?

No one, he might reply. That layer of needled hope was never there for someone like Belial. Even if it might bring Him back. Except it won’t. Belial knows this too.

Apologies always come so late. What would he say sorry for anyway? ‘You know what might occur beforehand, Belial.’ He did. He has always known. 

Except that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be thrown off guard anyway. Cilius would have scolded him, but from his lips when words could be read and said just then, Belial would have gladly taken that welcoming melody. Covered in the blood of something he doesn’t want to know, spreading around his hands, the always moving clothes that trails after stark purity, this is something he has known what might happen too. Regardless, what did it matter when it existed now?

They are right. Only the mad… dream of a single goal in mind. Life was supposedly so fluid and graceful. Everything that he was made to not be. There is nothing worth turning over. That small streak of a zephyr’s mark of life blinking in and out of existence. Proven to deeds that nothing would matter and never has in the end.

If life must be kept pitch-black and filled with nothingness, at the very least, let it go down destroyed by a god’s will. And to God, he prays, even though he is dead in front of him. 

Define god? Fine. It is in the form of someone pale, and feather-footed, but still walks with immense presence. The robes are unmistakably white against the caress of finer skin and the eyes that stare an individual through that might freeze in place if they were not strong enough to beheld them. Immersed in a small silhouette, and lost in a trail of papers. His song is straight-laced with unintentional poison, but no one would call it out because, simply put, that was how he was. Enthralling, but sleek, people might claim him to be erroneous to faults, an oddity. Saturnine in a desolate heaven not of his own standing, he had sought to not correct mistakes. 

No, this messiah freed himself from everything relevant, to be whatever he wished to be. Or didn’t want to be. Who was to question his hymns? Belial certainly didn’t. Until now.

“Cilius,” he whispers, and the drop of his breath has never been deemed worth it at all, but now, even more so. “Where have you gone?” There is no one else here anymore.

Honesty is not an answer. It never has been for someone like him. Yet, the question that drops is so sweet and wanting. It spites him too, compared against time’s own futile devices. ‘Oh, sooner than I thought,’ he might reminisce at a much later time. 

The separated pieces of someone so immortal lay scattered in front of him, a reminder that that time is not now. All that time they had used together. Wasted almost. And if this one impact might be the only thing to live within him, Belial lets it flourish. He knows what must be done, one way or another, always understood the chances in fighting the world and the disinterest that burns everything it touches, not even out of hate. 

“Cilius,” he says with the softest voice, cradling the broken remnants of his god in his hands. Stained in something not quite even ichor, but still, it sticks to his skin with the feeling that it is permanent. Permanently devoid of nothing and gone, the life’s blood of such a being he had never thought possible to be dead… dead. The head with fallowed eyes now closed and severed. Perfectly framed still, except lifeless.

Belial knows he must take for everything said. There is much to be done now after all. Oh, there is so much to do now. Always has been, in their small grasps of research and belief, but sped up more than ever. Still, he lets himself have this silence in a way he has never known for sincerity until now, echoing just one more question that no one will answer for a long, long time.

“Why did you leave me alone?”

**Author's Note:**

> hozier: I like the narrative that NFWMB is about feeling the need to protect your partner but it’s actually about someone so terrifying that no one wants to fuck with them and you love them for that
> 
> OH BET???


End file.
